


little witch

by novoaa1



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Barton (Mentioned) - Freeform, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, IT'S GAY, Like so much, Natasha Romanov Being a Badass Ballerina, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha's trying not to kill Tony, Praise Kink, Red Room (Marvel; briefly mentioned), TW: discussion of an eating disorder (not graphic), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wanda Maximoff Gets a Hug, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, Wanda Maximoff has Food Issues, Wanda Maximoff has a Praise Kink, a lot of stuttering on Wanda's end bc that girl is a Gay Mess™, also, and Nat finds out, and cutesy terms of endearment, and there's lots of cuddling, but it's hard, cuddling!, like a lot of it, like as in, like. SO much fluff, um, very little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 03:32:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18274904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: Wanda's been dating Natasha for over a month but she has a lot of insecurity about food and her weight, and she's terrified Natasha might dump her if she doesn't stay ridiculously thin.Or: Wanda has a bad day, and her and Natasha have a talk. Cue lots of fluff, all the cuddles, and Natasha giving Wanda the love she deserves.Also, Natasha's trying really hard not to kill Tony. It's difficult.





	little witch

**Author's Note:**

> This fic deals (not in terribly great depth) with eating disorders, and an unhealthy relationship with food--please consider that before you read. Again, the depiction isn't terribly graphic in nature, but the last thing I want to do here is trigger people. 
> 
> A lot of this is taken from my own personal experience in dealing with insecurity surrounding food (including inpatient hospital programs, a diagnosed eating disorder, and a ridiculous amount of body issues), so if I can be of help in any way, even if it's just to listen, don't hesitate to come shout at me on [my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ultralightdumbass) !
> 
> I'm also gonna put the helpline of the National Eating Disorder Association (NEDA) and a couple others in the notes at the end.
> 
> Stay safe!!

Wanda sighed, eyeing the number on the scale with an apathetic gaze, even as her stomach growled at her for skipping both lunch and dinner. It was just as she suspected—she’d gained a solid two pounds over the past week. 

 

Biting her lip, she made herself step off, knowing it’d only hurt her further to keep staring at the number and thinking back to every single fattening thing she’d been eating since she last weighed herself (—well, she’d do that anyways, but it was the thought that counted, she supposed).

 

Carefully sliding the metal scale beneath her bed frame, she eyed the darkened skies through the rain-streaked window pane in her quarters, flinching when a booming clap of thunder sounded. 

 

The young witch cursed quietly to herself in Sokovian—she’d been planning to force herself on a run tonight, but it looked like that wouldn’t be happening. 

 

_Except…._ , a voice in her mind whispered. 

 

She didn’t bother trying to fight it, her energy depleted; weighing herself had taken everything out of her, leaving only burning self-hatred and a bone-deep exhaustion in its wake.

 

So, no, she didn’t fight the voice in her mind when it told her then that she should go on her run anyways, no matter how unpleasant, because that’s exactly what she deserved right now—something unpleasant, a self-inflicted punishment for not having any _fucking_ self-control.

 

Mind made up, she changed quickly, putting on a mismatched pair of socks (one striped blue-and-white, the other a solid neon pink), padding out of her room as she tried to remember where she’d last seen her running shoes. She pointedly ignored the slight dizziness she felt as she turned sharply around a corner, forcing herself not to stumble even as tiny black spots danced in her vision. 

 

She walked more carefully around the floor after she’d recovered to avoid any more dizzy spells, sighing contently as the ache in her head began to lessen—she still hadn’t found her sneakers, though. 

 

That’s when it hit her: Natasha’s room.

 

_Of course._

 

Wanda had been dating the redheaded assassin for just over a month now, and _God_ , everything about it was perfect. 

 

It’d all begun when Steve insisted that Natasha train the young witch in hand-to-hand combat, in case of…. well, of what she didn’t quite know, but she'd agreed it was a good idea anyhow. 

 

Truthfully, she should’ve thought a bit more about the implications of agreeing to such a thing (she was harboring a slight crush on the older woman), because it wasn’t until their first session, when the assassin had the length of her body pressed tightly up against Wanda’s back as she corrected the Sokovian girl’s near-incorrigible fighting form, that she had the ridiculously delayed realization that _Shit, maybe this wasn’t one of my better ideas._

 

It was torture, because not only did every session include multiple instances of Natasha’s fucking _perfect_ body pressed unflinchingly against Wanda’s in some aspect, but she was also actually getting to know the woman behind the skin-tight leather getup and fear-inspiring reputation, whose personality traits included constant snark, endless sarcasm, and an endearing sort of awkwardness underneath it all that made itself known at the most unlikely of times… 

 

Suddenly, her crush became something more than the occasional fantasy after catching a glimpse of Natasha with beads of sweat glistening on her chest (seriously, wearing only a sports bra and tight black shorts to train? Was she trying to _kill_ Wanda?) as she sparred gracefully with Clint. Suddenly it was more than surface-level attraction, because Natasha’s husky laugh made the younger woman’s heart flutter every damn time, and _God_ , she was so screwed.

 

Wanda learning any new skill involving any sort of physicality always had a terrifically high chance of ending poorly; that much she already knew. But this new predicament was a whole new level of painful, because Wanda was just so _bad_ at hand-to-hand combat, and Natasha was the freaking _Black Widow_ , and to make things even worse, she’d managed to develop _feelings_ , like, _feelings_ feelings, for the older woman. It also didn’t help that their sparring sessions consisted largely of Wanda attempting a flimsy punch ("Remember your form," Natasha would breezily remind her as she sidestepped with ease), a whirlwind of action as the assassin moved faster than Wanda swore was humanly possible, and the young witch finding herself pinned firmly to the ground by a smirking Natasha in zero seconds flat, their faces inches apart.

 

It was only a few months into her training with the older woman (honestly Wanda’s impressed she'd even lasted that long), when the Sokovian girl finally snapped, Natasha Romanoff’s presence shattering her easily into a million tiny gay pieces. 

 

It’d been a warm day in the Avengers Tower, so Wanda had worn one of the two workout tanks she owned along with leggings that cut off at the calf (instead of her usual T-shirt and Adidas sweats) to train with Natasha. She nearly dropped the plastic water bottle she’d been holding when she entered the training room, because the redheaded assassin was clad only in a strappy white sports bra and a _very_ short pair of burgundy running shorts as she held herself in a graceful dancer’s pose ( _ballet_ pose, Wanda’s brain corrected unhelpfully) in the center of the mats. 

 

Her throat suddenly felt very dry as she stood in the doorway, her mind barely registering as Natasha called out a casual, “Hey, Wanda,” without breaking her stance. The older woman just looked so.. _peaceful_ , and Wanda couldn’t help but feel as if she was intruding on something incredibly private even as Natasha met the young witch’s shy gaze in the mirror with an easy smile, seemingly unbothered by her presence. 

 

Wanda felt a maddening blush spread across her cheeks as Natasha’s sparkling green eyes met hers in the mirror, because _God_ , she looked incredible. Cheeks flaming, the younger woman forced herself to turn and stumble towards one of the training benches, letting out a slow breath to calm herself as she plopped herself down on the edge of the wooden plank.

 

She watched dumbly for a moment as Natasha began to gracefully change positions, stretching a pale leg with a perfectly pointed toe into a 90 degree angle behind her, extending one arm daintily before her as if to point towards something, the other held delicately in the opposite direction to rest inches above her raised leg. Eventually Wanda registered a tingling warmth in her chest, reaching steadily lower with every second she sat there staring at the beautiful redheaded dancer like an idiot—she shook her head in a desperate attempt to clear her mind ( _Get it together, Maximoff_ , she scolded herself), averting her gaze from Natasha’s _perfect_ body. 

 

Her entire body jumped when she heard the assassin let out a low chuckle that echoed across the room, her eyes darting back up. “You can watch, you know,” Natasha’s voice reached her, a smirk evident in her voice even as the assassin remained in perfect position. “In fact, I actually encourage it.”

 

Wanda felt like she might faint at Natasha’s reply, because holy _shit_ this woman was going to kill her and she wouldn’t bother putting up a fight, not when she was doing _that_ with her body and saying things like “You can watch, you know” and “I actually encourage it” because did she just not realize how suggestive that sounded? Or was she doing this on purpose, using that teasing tone that bordered on flirty, all because she knew Wanda was a useless gay disaster when it came to Natasha? 

 

Countless thoughts flooded Wanda’s brain as she sat there completely gobsmacked, training entirely forgotten—seriously, it was a miracle there wasn’t smoke coming out of her ears as her eyes glazed over and her mind overloaded with thoughts of how unbelievably _gay_ she was for Natasha. (Really, she should go see Bruce immediately and ask him if it was possible to actually lose brain function from this, because oh my _God_.)

 

She was lost so deep in her sudden and overwhelming inability to function that she barely registered as Natasha, mildly troubled by the younger woman’s silence, dropped her pose and turned to approach the young witch. Wanda let out an undignified squeak when her brain registered what was happening, because suddenly the assassin was _there_ , sliding next to her on the wooden bench, close enough that Wanda could literally _feel_ Natasha’s body heat radiating against her skin.

 

Then it hit her that Natasha had said something—what, she couldn’t guess... But now the redhead was looking at her with an expression caught halfway between concern and amusement, clearly waiting for an answer, and Wanda wanted to smack herself for not having one. God, she was such an idiot. 

 

“What?” Wanda managed to choke out in response, prompting Natasha to repeat herself. 

 

Natasha’s lips quirked upwards, though her gaze remained thoughtfully locked on Wanda’s. “I asked if you were okay,” she said, eyes filled with genuine interest. “You spaced out there for a minute.”

 

“Uhhhhh,” Wanda said dumbly. _Speak, you idiot!_ her brain screamed. “Uh-Um,” she coughed, trying to compose herself. “Y-Yes! Yes, I’m okay,” she replied after a brief pause, her accent a little thicker than normal, allowing a self-deprecating smile to spread across her cheeks as she looked down. “Sorry.”

 

Natasha just looked curiously at the girl, head tilted in thought. 

 

Wanda’s eyes remained fixed firmly on the ground before she felt a warm finger— _Natasha’s_ finger—press beneath her chin, gently tilting the younger girl's blue eyes up to meet green. Wanda’s breath caught in her throat, the older woman’s gaze seeming to penetrate her to her very core, brow furrowed almost imperceptibly as she searched the young witch’s features for… something, though Wanda couldn’t be quite sure what it was.

 

Eventually Natasha's expression smoothed and her gaze turned playful, her finger still pressed firmly beneath the Sokovian girl’s chin as she let out a raspy chuckle. “It’s okay,” the redhead said, voice low. _Can I die from this?_ Wanda thought. _Is that possible? I think I might be dying._ Natasha’s brow raised, her green-eyed gaze still boring into Wanda. “Should we get started? I think—"

 

“I like you!” Wanda blurted out before she could stop herself, immediately clapping a hand over her traitorous mouth because oh my _God_ , she couldn't believe she’d just done that.

 

She wanted to run right then, wanted to run without a backwards glance, but it was like watching a train wreck: she just couldn’t look away. Instead, she watched helplessly as surprise flitted briefly across the assassin’s features, followed quickly by full lips curving upwards into a devastating smirk as Natasha fixed the younger girl with a look of barely restrained hunger sparkling in her emerald green eyes—and Wanda promptly felt her brain turn to mush because _Yep, this is it_ , she thought. _This is how it all ends. I’m either going to pass out or die from the way she’s looking at me right now, and honestly? I’m not even that mad about it._

 

Wanda didn’t dare move as the assassin leaned in even closer to the girl, the tip of her nose inches from Wanda’s, that teasing grin still plastered across the older woman's features. Wanda breathing stopped. _Oh God oh God oh G_ —

 

“I sincerely hope you don’t mean that in the platonic sense,” Natasha said then in a husky tone, her warm breath ghosting across Wanda’s lips. 

 

— _od oh God oh_ —

 

Wait, _what?_

 

Wanda felt like she’d been run over by a _train_ , completely at a loss for words as Natasha’s pert nose brushed against hers, and God, she couldn’t take it anymore—before she could even think about it she was surging forwards to press her lips against the redhead’s, mind going blank at the softness she found there. It took her brain a long moment to catch up with what she’d just done because oh my _God_ , Natasha was kissing her back and arching her body into Wanda’s and _Holy fuck, I’m kissing Natasha Romanoff_. 

 

They didn’t get any training done that day, not that it mattered, like, at _all_ , because they were _kissing_ and then Natasha was asking Wanda if she would like to go on a date with her and Wanda was saying yes and then they were kissing _again_ and—well… What was that American phrase? Right: The rest, as they say, is history.

 

So, yeah, Wanda thought as she padded towards Natasha’s quarters in search of her only pair of running shoes, that’s how it’d all begun. 

 

(She’d had to get a new sparring partner after they’d gotten together, though, because now that they knew in explicit terms how the other felt, they couldn’t help but get quickly distracted from all thoughts of training during their sessions, opting instead to make out with each other rather than do anything even remotely productive.

 

… which Wanda had absolutely 0 problems with, but Natasha insisted that she needed to learn how to defend herself, especially since Natasha couldn’t be there all the time to do it for her, not to mention that hex blasting people in public was one of Steve’s pet peeves, and a horribly efficient way to land herself squarely on the receiving end of his fatherly “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” looks for the next week.

 

She’d been sparring with Clint ever since.)

 

She and Natasha had been taking things slow, though; Wanda sometimes spent the night in Natasha’s quarters (hence the sneakers she'd left behind), and vice versa, but that was all they did: sleep. (Well, that and some heavy making out, but same thing.)

 

Wanda had been so grateful when she’d nervously confessed to the older woman that she didn’t think she was ready yet for anything more than what they’d been doing, and Natasha had just looked at her with pure understanding and adoration sparkling in her eyes, telling her that of _course_ they’d do things at Wanda’s pace no matter how slowly, before taking the young witch into a warm embrace and whispering how brave she was for being honest with her. Wanda always shivered with warmth and a hint of something else (something that she desperately tried to ignore) when Natasha praised her like that.

 

(Natasha would admit later, when they were snuggled against each other in Wanda’s bed, that she actually liked the idea of taking things slow: the Red Room had ingrained sex into her brain as a weapon whose sole purpose was to extract the information she needed, sending her on countless missions to flirt and giggle and let her body be used for everyone’s pleasure but her own—she wanted nothing more than to be done with that now, to treasure Wanda and the intimacy they shared without the sense of urgency.) 

 

Wanda’s lips curled into a shy smile when she reached Natasha’s quarters, the ache in her skull fading steadily into the background as she knocked softly on the assassin's door.

 

The Sokovian girl let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding as the door swung promptly open to reveal Natasha’s beautiful face framed by adorably messy curls, a gentle smile on her face as she leaned in to press her lips softly against Wanda’s.

 

“Hey,” the redhead spoke when they parted, taking Wanda’s hand in hers as she led the blue-eyed girl inside. “Why’s your hand so cold?” Natasha asked then, head tilted as she turned to meet the younger girl’s gaze. 

 

Wanda just shrugged, lips still tingling where Natasha’s had pressed against her, delighting in the fact that she could kiss Natasha right now if she wanted to. And God, she wanted to. 

 

She leaned in easily, shivering when Natasha’s full lips met hers and warm hands came up on either side to cup her face, thinking _God, I’m so lucky_ as their lips locked. 

 

The moment only lasted for a second before the ache in Wanda's skull began to return, her thoughts from earlier returning on its heels, barely registering Natasha’s lips detaching from hers as sharp needles of red-hot pain lanced through her head. Suddenly all she could think about was the scale, the two pounds she’d gained, needing to go on a run because she hadn’t been disciplined enough to— 

 

“Hey,” Natasha’s voice interrupted her thoughts, gentle green eyes watching her with obvious concern as a warm hand traced her jawline. “Where’d you go just now?” 

 

Wanda swallowed thickly, her brain moving at a snail’s pace. “I-um,” she blinked, completely at a loss, before the words came to her in a rush. “A run!” she blurted suddenly, too energetic. "I’m gonna go on a run, cause I said I was going to, then I was looking around for my Adidas shoes and I realized I left them in your room from a couple nights ago so I came here to get them a—“

 

“Hey, hey, hey, slow down, okay?” Natasha said softly, brows furrowed. “A run?” her eyes flicked to the window in her room, the raging storm outside clearly visible through the rain-dotted glass. “Wanda, you can’t go on a run right now,” she said, thumbs beginning to trace patterns in the skin below the younger girl’s jawline. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

 

Wanda’s brain was moving too fast, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to find the words that would make the older woman understand that she needed this, needed to go out and make herself _hurt_ for being so _stupid_ , followed quickly by the thought that she couldn’t let Natasha see how ugly she was, wondered if the redhead had already noticed the weight she’d gained and was just too polite to say anything and _Fuck_ , Wanda was positive she’d never been more overwhelmed in her life as black spots danced in her vision again and her head spun and suddenly the room was tilting and she was falling but she couldn’t stop it and—

 

She stopped falling somehow, her mind belatedly registering Natasha’s warm arms wrapped around her limp form— _Natasha must’ve caught me_ , Wanda thought dazedly. Then she was being pulled upwards, two strong arms lifting beneath her knees and torso as Wanda felt herself curl tightly into Natasha’s arms, head still spinning. 

 

She barely noticed as Natasha sat down on the bed with Wanda still curled up in her arms, situating herself with her back to the headboard as the younger woman nuzzled further into the redhead’s warmth. The Sokovian girl gradually became aware of Natasha whispering soft reassurances, switching mindlessly between Russian and English as she softly stroked locks of long brown hair, telling her it was all going to be okay, how she was safe here, that she just needed let herself breathe.

 

Wanda couldn’t tell how long it took, but eventually her breathing began to even itself out and she calmed down considerably, though her head still throbbed painfully. She sluggishly registered Natasha’s green eyes gazing down at her with furrowed brows and a look of such _concern_ —it nearly broke her, and she knew she had to be honest with Natasha, no matter how bad it hurt. 

 

She squirmed in Natasha’s lap, wanting— _needing_ to have this conversation in a slightly more comfortable position; she shifted her body, and Natasha—gentle, understanding Natasha—just sat patiently in place against the headboard, allowing Wanda to sling one leg over the outside of her hips, straddling the older woman’s lap as Natasha’s hands came up to rest lightly on the tops of her thighs. 

 

The young witch took a deep breath, hands in her lap coming to fiddle with the silver rings on her fingers, so many thoughts racing through her exhausted brain—but she didn’t want to waste Natasha’s time, not when the green-eyed woman was looking at her like _that_ even as she waited with such gentle patience for an explanation. “I-I’m sorry—it’s just I-I-I was upset a-and sad a—“

 

“Calm down and take your time,” Natasha urged, her warm hands coming to rest on Wanda's, effectively stopping the girl's nervous movements. “Let’s start with this: why were you upset?”

 

Wanda felt tears well in her eyes, and she wouldn’t—no, she _couldn’t_ —look at Natasha for this part. “I gained two pounds,” she whispered shakily, cheeks burning with shame as she stared at Natasha’s pale hands covering hers in her lap. 

 

Natasha nodded, quite sure she knew where this was headed. She needed to hear it from Wanda, though. “Okay,” she said softly to the younger girl seated on her lap, extending a single finger beneath the girl’s chin and gently guiding Wanda’s eyes back up to meet hers. “Then what happened?” 

 

Wanda sniffled, eyes red as she struggled to maintain eye contact with the assassin. “Um, I saw it was raining and the thunder scared me a little bit but then I thought about the weight I gained and—" she paused then, closing her eyes as she continued in a barely-audible whisper: “—and I felt like I had to go run in the storm… to… to punish myself.” 

 

“I’d like you to open your eyes, Wanda,” she felt Natasha say in a calm and quiet tone. “And I’d like you to look at me. Do you think you can do that for me?”

 

Wanda’s lower lip was trembling now, but she obeyed, watery blue eyes opening to meet Natasha’s soft gaze, a devastated expression on her features.

 

“Thank you for telling me; I know that that wasn’t easy,” Natasha spoke quietly. "And we’re going to talk about this; but first, when was the last time you ate?” the redhead asked, continuing to stroke at Wanda’s hands, slowly warming beneath her fingers.

 

And God, Natasha was looking at Wanda with such understanding, such _care_ —Wanda found the answer falling easily from her lips despite knowing it wouldn’t make her look very good. “This morning.”

 

Natasha just nodded. “Okay,” she said. “We’re still going to talk, but before we do, I’d like it if you ate something first. Can do that for me?” 

 

Wanda looked a little fearful, but nodded, heart fluttering at how _soft_ Natasha was being. 

 

“There’s some trail mix in the top drawer of the nightstand,” Natasha informed her patiently, lips quirking into a smile when Wanda immediately jolted into action, reaching over from her spot on the assassin’s lap to slide open the nightstand and retrieve a small plastic baggie filled with nuts and m&m’s and pretzels, her hands only slightly shaking as she straightened up, baggie in hand, to meet Natasha’s eyes again.

 

“You’re being so perfect for me,” the older woman praised. “You’re doing _so_ well, Wanda.”

 

Wanda’s cheeks flamed at that, the young witch quickly averting her gaze back to the trail mix in her grasp as an embarrassing (but oh-so-pleasant) sort of warmth began to gather in her chest and creep steadily lower, her body responding immediately to Natasha’s words. 

 

_Keep it in your pants, Maximoff_ , her brain scolded then, her fingers still shaking as she fumbled with opening the trail mix in her lap, desperate to divert her attention from how easily Natasha’s praise had affected her.

 

She didn’t dare look up at Natasha as she fished a green m&m ( _not as green as Natasha’s eyes_ , her mind supplied unhelpfully) out of the baggie, a warm blush still spreading across her cheeks as she brought the candy up to her lips and nibbled on it. 

 

Really, though, she shouldn’t have bothered trying to hide, because moments later Natasha’s warm finger was pressing beneath her chin in a maneuver she’d come to know quite well over the past month, again forcing her gaze to meet the assassin’s. Natasha's lips were curled slightly in a knowing expression, something almost _predatory_ glinting in her darkened green eyes—it only served to worsen the maddening blush on Wanda’s cheeks and the heat pooling in her lower belly. 

 

“Interesting,” the Russian woman mused in a low tone, and Wanda was sure she had never felt so exposed as she squirmed on the older woman’s lap, quickly stopping herself when the pressure between her legs began to build at the unintentional friction that resulted, rubbing _just_ where she’d needed it. Natasha’s knowing smirk widened. “We’ll revisit this later—“ _Oh God_ , Wanda thought “—but right now, I’d like you to eat some more.”

 

Wanda flushed, unable to do anything but nod as she quickly focused her attention on picking out cashews and pretzels to nibble on from the baggie on her lap, waiting anxiously to begin their “talk." 

 

“Is it okay if we talk about you now?” Natasha asked, tilting her head as she observed the adorable young witch munching happily on the trail mix and sitting comfortably on the assassin's lap. “If your energy is still too low, we can just go to sleep now and do it in the morning—“

 

“Talk now,” Wanda found herself blurting out (which, God, she _really_ had to stop doing that), her cheeks burning when Natasha fixed her with an amused look, one brow quirked.

 

Wanda bit her lip bashfully, struggling to maintain eye contact, but Natasha just chuckled. “Okay, little witch,” Wanda felt her heart skip a beat at the term of endearment, “we’ll talk now. Can I go first?”

 

Wanda nodded.

 

“Okay,” the assassin responded softly, her hands moving to rest on Wanda’s bare thighs as she stroked patterns into the smooth skin there. “First, I want to tell you that you’re gorgeous, because even after months of knowing you, my breath still catches every time I see you smile and I can’t help but think God, I’m lucky,” Natasha smiled wryly, even as Wanda’s eyes burned with unshed tears. "I think about that all the time... And I don’t pretend to understand what it is that makes you believe I somehow deserve the privilege of holding you and kissing you and making you laugh, but I’d never intentionally do anything to make you rethink that decision, because your presence has made me the happiest I’ve been in a very long time, and I don’t say that lightly.” Wanda didn’t bother fighting the tears sliding down her cheeks as Natasha’s words hit her, but the older woman wasn’t finished. “And I hate that you don’t see yourself as I do, that your self-worth is so heavily reliant upon the number you see on the scale, because you’re so much more than that, and you always have been. I know you won’t believe it; I know it’s hard to hear me telling you it doesn’t matter when everything inside of you is screaming that it does—but I’m selfish and I’m so sorry for that but I’m telling you now that I want you to be healthy more than anything because it’s breaking my heart to see you doing this to yourself.”

 

Wanda felt absolutely _wrecked_ as Natasha just gazed ever-so-softly up at her when she’d finished, the younger woman feeling so small and vulnerable and _loved_. “But..But what if I gain more weight and you don’t think I’m pretty anymore?” she managed to choke out before she could stop herself, unwittingly revealing the terrifying thought that had plagued her for weeks as another tear slid down her cheek.

 

Natasha’s features seemed to soften even further at that. “Little witch, I think you might be one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen, and I’d be a fucking idiot to let you go for your choice to take care of yourself the way you should, whatever that looks like. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’d still find you as gorgeous as the day I met you if your cheeks grew rounder and your adorable tummy grew softer, because you’d still be the same lovely girl that never fails to make me laugh... just a healthier version of her. And really, all that does is give me more of that wonderful girl to adore—and I just can’t get enough of her already, so believe me when I say I won’t mind at _all_ ,” Wanda smiled at that even as tears traced her cheeks, something dangerously close to happiness spreading through her chest as she saw Natasha grinning affectionately back at her. “Whatever healthy looks like on you, Wanda, I know it’ll be beautiful, and I so badly want you to believe that, too,” the assassin spoke softly. “Would you dump me if I lost my thigh gap and the V-line on my hips? Would you think I was ugly then?” 

 

“What?!” Wanda squawked, completely floored by Natasha’s blunt questions that seemed to come completely out of left field. “Oh my God, no—I mean—just— _No._ You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever _seen_ ; you’d look beautiful pregnant and—I mean, not that I was trying to say you should have children right now—or that you shouldn’t! I mean—It’s just—That’s not what I was trying to—I just—um…. No, you’re so beautiful,” the young witch finished lamely, blushing furiously again as Natasha waited for her _adorable_ ranting to end, a lazy smirk tracing her features. 

 

Wanda winced as what was probably her most colossal word-vomit of the century echoed in the her ears, thanking God when Natasha put her out of misery, saying “And we’ve already established that I feel the same way for you as you do towards me, yes?” 

 

Wanda let out a breath of relief when Natasha didn’t mention the younger woman’s ‘pregnancy’ comment, just nodded her head eagerly in response to the older woman's query, though she didn’t quite understand what Natasha was getting at because—oh. It hit her. _Oh._ Natasha was saying she didn’t _care_ if the number on Wanda's scale continued to climb, that she’d still want to hug her and kiss her and _be_ with her. Wanda resisted the urge to respond with a genuinely curious "Are you _sure_?”, because wow, that promise sounded far too good to possibly be true.

 

Natasha watched as realization dawned on Wanda’s face, the younger woman looking absolutely _floored_ at the prospect of Natasha accepting her so readily. Natasha knew it was a long road from here, that making Wanda truly believe her words would require hundreds of conversations just like this one in the very near future—but here, now, with Wanda’s expression beginning to relax into something that resembled happiness as she nibbled on a cashew where she sat perched comfortably on Natasha’s lap… well, Natasha thought this was a pretty good start. 

 

Then Wanda was leaning in to capture Natasha’s full lips in a chaste kiss, the older woman melting beneath her as the Sokovian girl tried desperately to convey her gratitude, pale hands with neatly black-painted nails coming up to stroke at the skin beneath Natasha’s jawline as their lips locked.

 

Eventually, they parted for air, Wanda leaning her forehead against the redhead’s as their breaths mingled, losing herself in a moment that felt as close to perfect as anything she’d ever known. 

 

“Thank you,” she breathed out against Natasha’s lips eventually, sighing contently as she felt Natasha’s fingers wipe gently at the tear tracks drying on her cheeks. 

 

“You did all the heavy lifting, my little witch,” Natasha replied softly, a content expression on her face as she looked intently into Wanda’s blue eyes. “I’m so _proud_ of you.”

 

She’d done that on purpose, Wanda was sure of it—her hips bucked against the older woman’s torso before she could stop herself, white-hot arousal flaring through her body as Natasha grinned smugly up at her. 

 

“D-Dont,” Wanda’s voice shook with something so clearly unrelated to her panic of minutes before, forehead still pressed against the older woman’s, a permanent blush staining her pale cheeks. “—don’t _do_ that.”

 

Natasha just tilted her head slightly, brushing up against the younger woman’s forehead as she feigned ignorance. “Do what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Don’t you like it when I tell you how good you were for me, how well you’ve listened to everything I’ve asked of you?” she leaned in further to place her smirking lips millimeters from Wanda’s, delighting in the way she could feel the younger girl’s breath hitch in her throat. “Don’t you want me to say how _proud_ I am of my beautiful girl?” 

 

A whimper escaped Wanda’s throat as her hips bucked again of their own accord, the young witch choking on nothing as she rubbed herself _just right_ against Natasha’s firm torso (she _swore_ the older woman was flexing), sparks of pleasure erupting throughout her body as Natasha’s fingers continued to stroke the bare skin at the tops of her thighs— Wanda breathed heavily, attempting desperately to _focus_. 

 

And Natasha? Natasha was thoroughly enjoying the reactions she could elicit from the younger woman, a familiar warmth settling between the redhead’s thighs as she watched the Sokovian girl squirm so _prettily_ in her lap, trying desperately (and failing) to control her body’s reactions to Natasha’s ministrations.

 

Their moment was abruptly shattered as the door burst open to reveal an excitable Tony, the billionaire babbling incessantly as he tended to do, more to himself than anyone else “—and Rhodey and Capsicle want to watch Forrest Gump for movie night, but I’d actually rather die so I need you to—“ 

 

The middle-aged genius blinked as he cut off his own obnoxious rant, suddenly taking notice of the scene he'd interrupted: a blushing and disheveled Wanda dressed in shorts and a tank top positioned on top of a similarly-dressed and heavily glaring Black Widow, and _Oh, this is perfect_ , he thought to himself with barely restrained glee. 

 

Natasha clenched her jaw at the expression Tony wore, Wanda still frozen in place on her lap as an easy smirk began to spread across the man’s face and he leaned himself cockily against the doorframe. “Hello, ladies,” he said in an overly seductive tone, eyebrows wiggling. Natasha’s expression hadn’t changed, while Wanda was looking at Tony with her brows furrowed and mouth agape, clearly unsure how to respond to Tony’s ridiculously blasé attitude. Tony’s expression, meanwhile, had gone quite quickly from unrestrained glee to childlike petulance as he pushed his lips out to form a dramatic pout. “And why, pray tell, was I not invited to this little shindig?” the dark-haired billionaire asked, one hand pressed flatly against the glowing blue energy core peeking through the fabric of his shirt in mock offense. He waved a hand dismissively when he didn’t get an answer, clearly undeterred by the two women’s lack of response. “You know,” he continued on casually, hand gesturing mindlessly in the air. “I had this dream a couple weeks ago that went a lot like this, and—"

 

A strangled squeak escaped the billionaire playboy’s throat, effectively cutting off his train of thought as a throwing star promptly sunk itself into the doorframe with a sharp _thwack!_ just inches below his bare arm. Flinching violently, Tony very nearly face planted into the ground as he stumbled to catch his balance because _Shit_ , he hadn’t even seen Natasha _move_. 

 

(Wanda hadn’t either, was just as surprised as the dark-haired man by the projectile flying through the air and burying itself into the wooden doorframe with devastating accuracy, but her shock was fairly short-lived—this was Natasha, after all.)

 

Tony gaped. “You almost _killed_ me!”

 

Natasha snorted. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead—believe me,” she said in an almost conversational tone, taking a great deal of pleasure from the vaguely terrified expression on the junior Stark's indignant features. “Now, what’s this about Forrest Gump?”

 

Tony rolled his eyes then, grumbling something that sounded suspiciously like “Fucking assassins,” but Wanda couldn’t be sure; Natasha just tilted her head at the man, waiting for him to elaborate further on his current ‘Forrest Gump' dilemma. “Well, I mean… are you guys doing movie night with us or do you have—" he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the pair, “— _plans_?”

 

Natasha briefly debated, not for the first time, lying in wait to abscond with the obnoxious man under the cover of the pitch-black night and leaving him stranded on some ridiculously obscure and wholly unpopulated island deep in the Caribbean to live out the remainder of his days in torturous solitude— _Tempting as ever_ , she thought, withholding a heavy sigh.

 

Instead, she focused her attention on the Sokovian girl in her lap, who had suddenly adopted a nervous expression that easily took precedence over Natasha’s more sinister plans involving a certain playboy billionaire genius. 

 

“Movie night?” Natasha asked the girl softly in a neutral tone, trying to convey that she had no real preference either way (—just as long as Wanda was happy; that was all that mattered). 

 

Wanda bit her lip in adorable concentration for a moment or two where she sat on the assassin’s lap, before her face cleared and she nodded shyly. “Can we get pizza?” she asked the older woman, her blue eyes sparkling with hope, completely ignoring Tony standing not ten feet away from them. 

 

Natasha smiled so widely when she heard Wanda’s simple request, especially after their heart-wrenching conversation about the girl’s deep-seated insecurity surrounding food. God, she was so _proud_ of the brave young witch, making a mental note to tell her that later, when they were alone again. 

 

“Of course, pretty girl,” Natasha whispered back to Wanda with a tender smile, then turned to look at Tony, who was still watching them with a shit-eating grin on his face (though to his credit, he maintained a respectful distance from the two women, because that was just how Tony fit with the rest of them: perpetually going out of his way to toe the line and annoy the shit out of everyone, but very rarely intentionally crossing it altogether. Natasha appreciated that about him). “We’ll be down in a minute,” she informed Tony with a nod, rolling her eyes as the billionaire exited unnaturally slowly, poking his head back inside once more from the hallway to fix them with another suggestive smirk, then darted quickly out of sight before Natasha could think to send another throwing star his way. 

 

Wanda giggled in her lap. “He thinks you’re so scary,” the blue-eyed girl said, her accent heavy, “but I know the truth about you,” she finished almost gleefully, a hand coming up to playfully boop Natasha’s nose as the older woman scrunched her features in weak protest. 

 

A beat passed in silence. “You booped me,” Natasha said, fighting to maintain a neutral expression.

 

Wanda grinned victoriously. “I did.” 

 

Natasha’s brow quirked. “I’ve killed men for far less.”

 

“You liked it,” the younger woman responded in a matter-of-fact tone. 

 

Natasha just rolled her eyes, then tapped Wanda’s thighs, urging her to get up. Wanda giggled again but complied, easily shifting to allow Natasha room to move.

 

“C’mon,” Natasha said as she stood next to the bed, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the smooth forehead of a still-sitting Wanda as she offered an outstretched hand to the Sokovian girl. “Let’s get some food.”

 

Wanda quickly tangled her fingers with Natasha’s as she stood, still feeling some residual dizziness as she steadied herself against the assassin. She felt Natasha’s worried gaze on her, but caught the older woman’s eye and smiled, silently letting her know she was okay. 

 

“Can we cuddle during the movie?” she asked as Natasha pulled her gently along through doorway and into the hallway. 

 

Natasha laughed genuinely as they walked together, bringing their joined hands up to her mouth to kiss at Wanda’s pale knuckles. “Of course."

**Author's Note:**

>  _Hotlines:_  
>  National Eating Disorder Association (NEDA): 1-800-931-2237 or text NEDA to 741741  
> (Their hours are 9am-9pm (EST) Monday thru Thursday, and 9am-5pm (also EST) on Fridays)
> 
> Something Fishy: 1-866-418-1207  
> (Their hours are 24/7 and they offer nationwide treatment referrals. Also, their website has a group chat you can join to gain support from and chat with others suffering from similar problems.)
> 
> Overeaters Anonymous: 1-505-891-2664  
> (This is a worldwide hotline available 24/7, and contrary to popular belief, they are qualified and ready to help with eating disorders that don't necessarily involve only overeating: bulimia, anorexia, etc.)
> 
> Again, stay safe, and don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it!!


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